"A mentor once told me that if you care
about what you’re doing you should just keep doing it, no matter what anyone
else thinks.” -Joshua Young

Punk Rock Poet

Joshua Young is a poet, musician, filmmaker, fiction writer, and graduate student in the MFA Poetry program, where he is crafting an ambitious thesis that pays homage to an important era of rock music.

By Jake Austen

“I write wherever I can,” poet Joshua Young
explains as he navigates Laurie’s Planet of Sound, the Lincoln Square
resident’s local record and video shop. “I take random notes on ‘L’ trains, in
front of the TV, when I’m listening to records, when I’m … what’s this? John
Cassavetes’ The Incubus? That’s weird…”

It’s not surprising that the Washington state transplant’s attention
wanders. The thirty year-old MFA Poetry student is a ravenous cultural
omnivore, ingesting all manner of media, resulting in genre-defying
disciplinary mash-ups (his 2011 White Knuckle Press chapbook, To The Chapel of
Light, is “A Short Film-in-Verse,” and his 2012 Gold Wake Press full-length,
When the Wolves Quit, is “A Play–in-Verse”). This appetite to blur literary
lines and blend art forms has pushed Young to become perhaps one of the most
prolific artists in the Columbia College Chicago community.

In addition to placing more than fifty poems, stories, essays, reviews,
and articles in various publications over the last year, Young has recently
published two books of experimental poetry, began archiving eight years of
musical projects online, and his third feature film, Do You See Colors When You
Close Your Eyes? (a writer-ly, gay, interracial, beyond-the-grave love story),
has been touring the festival circuit. Considering his toner-draining CV, it’s
impressive that Young is able to focus on two topics that he’s truly excited
about: his experiences at Columbia (and the circuitous route that brought him
here), and his thesis project.

“Three years ago I got a fellowship and a teaching position at
Columbia,” he recalls, “but my mentor from graduate school”—that’s Western
Washington University, where Young received an MA in English—“convinced me New
Mexico State would be a good place for me. He was wrong. The professors were
good, but my wife and I hated the town so much that I called Tony Trigilio, and
I said, ‘I know I said no, but can I please come?’ Thankfully, he said, ‘Yes.’
I love living in Chicago, and it’s been great working with Tony. Because I
don’t adhere to any genre rules and I blur the lines, I didn’t know how
supportive this place would be of my poetry. But Tony likes narratives and he
likes projects.”

Young’s most ambitious project is his thesis—a historical fiction
novella composed of poems and found material from his own email inbox. The
project is also his most narrative. It tells the tale of an imagined early 80s
Seattle hardcore punk scene that combines research about legendary bands like
Black Flag, the Minutemen, and Minor Threat, with an imagined Pacific Northwest
band that played alongside the greats, but is forgotten today.

The work, which explores homophobia, teen introspection, police brutality, and
outsider communities, was originally conceived as a screenplay about an aging
60s cover band (Young has been involved in cinema for a decade since his twin
brother, Caleb, recruited him to act in and help write his films). But the
scribe soon realized that the punk bands he had played in since his teens owed
a debt to their early 80s forbearers that he could repay in verse.

“The more I realized that the music I listened to and loved only
happened because bands like Black Flag toured relentlessly, cracking the
underground wide open across the country, the more I wanted to figure out a way
of saying a thank you,” Young says. “I would never be able to do what I do
without this movement.”

What makes the thesis project so bold is the postscript, which features
Young’s actual, unedited email exchanges with a more knowledgeable music fan
giving the poet a crash course in Hardcore 101. Considering that the worst
stigma in the punk scene is to be branded a “poser,” this lengthy, seductively
awkward section reads like a WikiLeaks document revealing the emperor’s
nakedness, leaving the writer vulnerable yet also empowering him. Without this
pulling-back-of-the-curtain, Young’s gritty, detail-rich writing could
certainly convince many readers his reports were factual, sending record
collectors on futile searches for fictional singles. “I was born in ’81,” he
shrugs, “so I couldn’t be part of this scene, but I never considered not doing
this just because I’d be called a poser. A mentor once told me that if you care
about what you’re doing you should just keep doing it, no matter what anyone
else thinks.”

Back at Laurie’s Planet of Sound, Young’s eyes dart between his cell
phone (his wife, at home with their eighteen-month old, reminds him to pick up
toilet paper), a Black Flag poster, and a VHS copy of Basquiat. (“Strangely,
the actor who plays him uses the same mannerisms as the guy from Counting
Crows,” he says.) But the poet’s multitasking briefly comes to a halt as he
thoughtfully reflects on why his move to Columbia has been so rewarding.

“The range of poets at this school is insane,” he enthuses. “No one
writes like me, and not one teacher is the same aesthetically, voice-wise or
stylistically. It’s the same with students—everyone is so different, which
makes us really good readers of each other’s work.” Ignoring the rack of punk
rock CDs he’s instinctively flipping through, Young’s perpetual motion machine
of a mind seemingly transports the busy scholar to his South Loop academic
stomping grounds. “This place is so supportive it’s ridiculous!”